A/N: I'm sorry if anyone was expecting this chapter sooner. I'm firstly a slow writer (also because I'm in the middle of very demanding studies) but it's mainly because I've had the greatest difficulties to find a beta (if anyone is interested and prepared to correct my silly "frenchy" mistakes, it'd be absolutely fabulous). Enjoy!
Chapter two: having hard times, isn't the best way to learn?
Since his sister's wedding, brought forward by his father, eager to settle his alliance (at least that's what he pretexted when he made the announcement), Gwaine had found himself more and more drinking at the tavern, trying to escape the castle, that had become an unwelcoming and even unbearable place, even up in his tower. When Sir Carnavon realised this was the best excuse he could ever find to send his son away, he ordered one of his men to search the whole country for a knight that would allow Gwaine to be his apprentice. A young and vigorous man to exploit, one would think that every single knight, apart from those of Camelot that already obtained everything they craved for, would come to Carnavon as soon as he heard about this offer. Unfortunately, rumours were always the worst thing that could happen to an unknown and still fragile nobleman, only entering public life, in a world where a rumour was as relevant and believed as a fact. Since he had found himself the youngest of his family and cause of his mother's death (against his will), he already had a great "legendary" background before he even knew how to hold a sword and had the possibility to achieve some high deeds (or fail to). It was therefore quite hard to speak highly of him and the fact that little people, as we can all understand, were very keen on both dark and laughable characters with some twisty and enigmatic stories that followed their mention. But his public status was even more degraded than that, since he got himself drunk a few times in the village tavern and got involved in a few fights quite well but triggered by so irrelevant matters they were only considered as stupidities.
The unpredictable event it was worth waiting for
For at least three month, no one showed up to enquire about lord Carnavon's son. He almost reached the conclusion that there never would. A fortnight later though, at dawn, a cantering rider entered the courtyard. At first one would have sworn he was the ghost of some defeated knight, wearing the most cheerless murky clothes, mounting a black horse that could have been a shadow. As he stood, the rising sun behind him, he almost looked like a phantom, out of reality. A horse keeper came down to him panting, as he had just got up hastily. The incomer removed his helmet that was completely covering (and thus protecting) his head. One could see he was still quite young but his facial attitude also let appear that he had gone through a lot too much in his life. His expression transformed after a few seconds into stone so that guessing his thought and emotions was simply humanly impossible.
"Lead me to your lord!" he sharply declared.
Hopefully Lord Carnavon didn't sleep very long after dawn and on that day he was already in the counsel room meditating his next action.
"My lord, there's someone asking for you, a knight as it seems" said shyly the servant with a country accent, hesitating on whether to get in the room or not, because he wouldn't dear disturb his master.
"Let him in and bring us something to eat and drink. If he wishes to see me then I must consider him as my guest and thus treat him as such." He solemnly declared.
The man bent down, babbling something approaching an "of course my lord" and ran away to his task.
A few minutes later, our mysterious character entered the room. He hadn't opened his mouth since his request and was still holding his steel helmet, waiting for a word from Sir Carnavon. The latter didn't wait long, as he recognised the legendary knight he had standing in front of him from the absence of any coat of arms combined with his more than unusual entrance. He knew who he was dealing with, although it could not help him figure out what way he should've acted or even expected.
"Sir Bedwyr, welcome. Be my guest. I hope your journey wasn't too harsh and that you haven't had to ride all night. If you need anything, just ask some of my servants." He announced in a conformed to the knights code tone.
"That won't be needed, my lord. I just meant to enquire whether you were still searching for a knight to guide your son. I would indeed be honoured to take him with me through my journeys across King Uther's Kingdom." He replied coldly. Well, let's say he still had a lot in common with a ghost, considering his lifeless, gravy but hypnotising tone. One wanted to believe every word he said and hear him speak as long as possible. For a second, Sir Carnavon remained speechless.
"Sir Bedwyr, that is a much appreciated proposition that you just made. And I shall speak for my son when I say that he is willing to accompany you as soon as possible."
Leaving home never to return
A few minutes later, Sir Carnavon had settled everything, without speaking a word of it to his son, since he believed he perfectly had the right to speak for him and always will. He now had to announce to the latter that he had no choice but to leave an hour later, with no chance to say goodbye to his sister and prohibition to take anything personal with him (which was Sir Bedwyr sole demand). Be driven into such a situation would've been an option for no one. But for lord Carnavon, respect to one's family and especially to its older members was a rule one could never break. His confidence lied in his intrinsic power over his progeny.
He caught Gwaine still in bed and felt almost amused, thinking it may well be the last time he would have the opportunity to (fatherly) yell at him for it. Having ordered him to get up, get dressed and take a travelling bag, he simply notified Gwaine of his imminent departure. Luckily for him, Gwaine never refused some promising adventure, even if he would always recall the heartless, cold and totally blind decision of his father as the day he realised his father actually didn't emotionally care about him. After his sire had left the room, as he managed to pack discretely a necklace he had stolen from his mother's treasury when he was 8 years old, he imagined how his wonderfully strong but emotionally fragile sister would react when she would find out. He suddenly felt for the first time in his life that he was on the verge of bursting into tears. He inertly hoped he would be given the chance to stay alive until he had the opportunity to visit her. However, crying never was and would never be his type so he quickly hid this thought into the "bad memories" corner of his mind, along with the whole day.
Grabbing his more than light luggage, he wondered how his suddenly becoming true adventurous life would be. He realised he didn't know much about his new master, just as anybody in the kingdom. Bedwyr appeared in fact to be the most mysterious knight protecting the territory, discreet and effective but remaining austere and secret to anyone approaching him. The sole legend that could reveal anything about his personality was a tragic one, related to failure. Though he was seen as one of the most extraordinary capable fighter of his time, Bedwyr didn't obtain the title of "Knight of Camelot". The one day when he failed, the legend reported, every single spectator had the strange feeling that it couldn't have actually happened, as if some supernatural forces had plotted to interfere with what was meant to be. Like everyone who wanted to be knighted as official protector of Camelot, our unlucky character had to challenge the leader of the order, which was already embodied by the very young Prince Arthur of Camelot, and manage to fight bravely for at least a minute. Nothing impossible, though only the best could achieve such a task. But for Bedwyr, his success seemed so bound to be that Prince Arthur himself thought this challenge was only a matter of principle. The legend didn't mention what was the trigger to his fall however this fact was certain, since it had been the most unexpected result of a challenge for decades and conducted to his disqualification for life. For life because then one could only take the challenge once. King Uther had given Bedwyr the right to remain on his territory as an "independent" knight, making him the one true errand protector of the land that could never return victorious to Camelot, even if he had achieved enough to become a living myth, which was what actually came to pass. Wondering how degraded it must have felt, Gwaine harshly condemned Camelot for not having shown the mercy Bedwyr deserved. With this frustration, that he had begun to associate with nobility as a set of arbitrary, silly rules in mind, he jumped on his mare, not bothering to say his farewell to his father nor to his brother, and joined Bedwyr in silence outside the castle, so intimidated that he didn't dare do one of his ironically mocking jokes.
A missed destiny?
The Northern Saxon Border, in an unwatched area, at dawn. Camelot lied behind imposing mountains. We reckoned our two heroes mounted on horses, waiting for something. It all seemed quite mysterious and suspicious. The still palpable tension between the two informed us that they weren't even close to being friends. It had been a while though, one could assume that they would at least be chatting instead of waiting silently for at least an hour. However, considering Bedwyr's bitter character and his ascetical way of life, this was nothing profoundly surprising. On the other hand, Gwaine had literally transformed into a proper warrior: having gained muscles, falsely arrogant manners and cut his hairs as short as it could imaginably be possible. He had somehow managed to keep his necklace and his horse with him, which meant that he hadn't completely bent to his instructor's will. This still didn't unfold the reason of their presence in such a spot. Hopefully we needed not wait long until someone came out of the forest, escorted by two guards.
"My Lord, pleased to see you here and honoured to be your guide to Zaldor" the knight just said humbly, joining the rider, pursued by his apprentice.
"Bedwyr, my friend, you needn't behave that officially! We are still equals, like in the old days" the traveller said, half laughing, half shocked.
"I'm afraid these days are long gone and me with them. Let's depart before someone catches us, shall we?" Bedwyr had gone from a cold-hearted way of speaking to a much irritated, almost angry tone. Some ancient memory that he thought he had succeeded into erasing must have been troubling him somehow. However, this quite brutal reaction froze the air for a second and thus they departed silently towards the mountains. Even if he didn't show it at all, one could understand that Gwaine felt legitimately both uncomfortable, he who craved warmly free speaking relationships, especially between long-time friends, and intrigued by this sign of humanity, from which he might learn the clue to understand Bedwyr he had been waiting for since the day they departed from Camelot. And he would certainly not be disappointed by the day to come.
As they rode down to the forest, they arrived to a canyon commonly known as Camlan. Nowadays the simple occurrence of this place can greatly frighten anyone, even the bravest and adventurous ones. By that time though, it was a place famous for its mineral beauty and the natural protection it gave to anyone going through. Basically it was just a place where the position of the rocks seemed so unlikely and at the same time it all fitted so harmoniously that every traveller could not help but to gloss about it and make up some mystical properties linked to it, especially since the path was too tight to let pass more than 3 men at a time, increasing the feeling of a sheltering will. A few instants after they entered the canyon, Bedwyr started breathing heavily and stopped his horse, ordering Gwaine to go forth with lord Cadneon, before he set foot on land. Even off his horse, he wouldn't let himself show any sign of weakness but the struggle could clearly be witnessed.
As soon as they disappeared, he fell on his knees, eyes wide shut as if he could assist to some event inside. His arms were turned to the sky, appalled by some unearthly spirit from above. Still panting, tears rolled down on his cheeks, like diamonds shining in the sun that had surprisingly emerged from the threatening clouds. Could it have been a divine intervention or rather some obvious sign sent to our hero (who had very little of a hero at that moment) by a superior being (or more reasonably assumed a magical being)? That is for everyone individually to decide even if as storyteller (and thus compelled in a way to follow the legendary interpretation) we will stay with the fairy-tale version. So, as we were saying, Bedwyr was experiencing contact with the Otherworld. His reaction, except for the few drops, probably caused by the intensity of his not-to-be denied vision he was having, was close to oblivion. Either he could be counted as one of the true believers in the Otherworld's spirits' interferences or he had encountered oracles before. It might have been both considering his past and above all his downfall. Right in the middle of Camlan, he stood still for a dozen of minutes or as it would have seemed to anyone there, enthralled by this quite archetypical scene, more like a dozen seconds (or hours, depends on how much you enjoy it). At last he began moving, but not as if all of it was over, more as if he were trying to chase someone, to prevent some event, struggling with his own arms in seizures. It all ended in a frightening shout, given out in a patently desperate attempt to change what virtually appeared as unbearable. The knight's chest made a jump, testifying the departure of the spirit, followed by the hasty opening of his eyes, bursting into life again. He hurriedly ran to his horse and climbed up back, tackling at once the unfortunate animal.
Half an hour passed before the cantering horse joined the rest of his horde. Gwaine turned out, evidently relieved at the sight of his master. No comment was made by any of them. They quietly rode for the rest of the day, attaining the forest at twilight. As could be expected, Gwaine fetched some woods and lit up a fire (he was just a servant after all). Soon they were all asleep except for the latter, on guard. On the verge of falling asleep, the apprentice heard a shriek close to him. Another one startled him and made him turn around, only to see that the person responsible was Bedwyr. He sighted, relieved. His master must have done that in the past. However a few seconds later his face contracted and he bent down to wake the bad-dreamer up. Letting him disturb the others' rest (and preventing him from watching for incoming dangers) would in fact have been a truly unreasonable alternative.
"Why am I not left at peace to sleep?" Bedwyr angrily muttered, getting on his arms.
"You were having a bad dream sir. I hope it has nothing to do with what happened this afternoon, if I may say." Gwaine replied, deeply concerned.
"Unfortunately it rendered it worse" he sighted, sitting up. As if he suddenly realised how stranger those dreams must have seemed to his apprentice, he declared, leading Gwaine to the fire camp, where they both sat, side by side "I'll make an attempt in explaining these bad-dreams to you" he paused for a while, gathering forces, and words, his look turning into a really sincere and serious one. "You are not to ignore why I didn't become a knight of Camelot, do you?"
Gwaine nodded.
"Since that day, once in a while, it just feels, in my dreams, that things have gone differently, and that I found myself at Arthur's side. It appeared as idyllic, going from adventure to adventure and therefore I always thought I made it all up out of nostalgia and remorse. Until today."
"Because this time you were not sleeping when it happened" Gwaine completed.
"It struck even harder than that. The vision had nothing idyllic anymore, it couldn't have been worse. I thought I was being transported into a living nightmare. Some battle was taking place right where I actually stood. And Arthur…. Arthur fought as bravely as ever… before a blade went in and out his body. I watched myself carrying him (or rather dragging him) to some isle where he could be saved according to some sorcerer on the battlefield… and he died just before we reached the lake! My last gesture was to throw Arthur's sword into the lake, for some unknown reason, but it seemed utterly important."
He went silent, meditating what it had just said. Gwaine was not less in a similar state of mind. They both sat all night, thinking, probably turning every detail upside down though it seemed none of the two could find an explanation to this. The Otherworld's will was to remain of a secret meaning, though one could think it was nothing but the traces of a legend that failed to happen.